King of Jokers
by Owl-head
Summary: Sly son of Hermes, Virgil Coogan joins Mr. D for an action-packed game of cards. Short story.


PJATO SI060711-2

Virgil Coogan wasn't one of those guys who played pranks on people to get attention. He didn't do it because he was insecure. He came up with crude jokes and priceless hoaxes to trick little kids because that was what he was born to do. And, he enjoyed every minute of it. After all, he was an expert. From the early age of five, when he'd replaced a boy's milk with glue in Kindergarten, he'd known he was a born hooligan. In, fact, he wasn't just that, he was a mastermind. While some of his ideas were based off of clever things the Stoll brothers had done, he could just as easily come up with tricks of his own.

There was a difference between the demigod world and the human world, as far as pranks were concerned. For example, when Virgil was at school during the year, he could do something like steal the biology teacher's boa constrictor and hide it in the gym during girl's basketball practice. But, in the world of demigods and monsters, things got a little more fun: there was the smuggling of Cokes and donuts into camp (a Hermes cabin tradition), the times he got to steal books from the Athena cabin and hurl them at Wine Dude when he had his back turned.

Then, there was capture-the-flag. That was a whole different story. Virgil lived for capture-the-flag. The best part? Cheating was totally game. But, tonight, he didn't intend to just cheat. Oh, no, tonight he'd cheat, muddle, plunder, pillage, and steal right from under the other team's noses. They wouldn't know what hit them. Tonight, he had a plan. And now, as he went to pester Mr. D at the pavilion, that plan was running through his head, over and over.

"_Mr. D_," Virgil greeted in his sweetest voice, walking around the circular table until he stood behind his favorite camp director. As usual, Mr. D was busying himself with a card game of some sort. His hand consisted of four spades, a diamond, the high joker, and two hearts.

Sensing Virgil's presence, the God of Wine sighed, not even bothering to look up at the camper as he tossed a card onto the pile in the middle of the table. "What do you want, Virgil? I didn't think you Hermes brats were supposed to harass me until the orientation in the pavilion." Unlike many of the other half-bloods at camp, Dionysus had gotten to know Virgil plenty. More than any of the others, Virgil was the one who insisted on pranking him, and overall, wrecking the most havoc around camp. After calling him to the Big House a total of thirteen times last year (one of which, had been on account of his replacing the Aphrodite girls' hairspray with spray cheese), Mr. D had given up pretending not to know Virgil's name. Virgil had annoyed him past that stage. Instead, he simply referred to the demigod as Hooligan, Coogan, or Virgil. And, he was, by far, Dionysus's least favorite camper.

Smiling bigger, Virgil continued on in his sweet voice, "Mr. D, Mr. D, do you really think I'd break a tradition? I would never harass you before orientation. I've simply come to join in your game."

"Forget it," Mr. D muttered, fidgeting with his cards. After Chiron played a five and Dionysus had yet to lay down a card, Virgil pointed out one of his spades.

"Play the ace of spades," Virgil coaxed, laughing at the outraged expression Mr. D returned.

"You little-" he spat, purposely tossing in anything but the ace of spades. "Do you want Chiron to know my cards?"

Virgil grinned bigger. "That depends. Can I play?"

"This is BS, not Go Fish. Go steal something. I don't have time for this."

"Hey Chiron," Virgil crossed his arms, peeking over Dionysus' shoulder again. "He also has the four of hearts, a joker-"

"_Fine!" _Mr. D roared. "Pull up a chair. And, no cheating." Even Chiron had to laugh at that one.

Mr. D collected the cards as Virgil sat down and shrugged. "Can't make any promises."

Digging a handful of gold drachmas out of his shorts pocket and placing them in a heap in the middle, he earned a dumbfounded glanced from Mr. D. Neither he nor Chiron had volunteered that much money. Just as the camp director was opening his mouth to ask where Virgil had gotten the drachmas, Chiron interrupted by playing the first card.

"One ace," the centaur said, sliding it into the middle. Beside him, Virgil discretely slipped on a pair of black sunglasses.

"BS," the half-blood called nonchalantly, situating himself so he could prop his feet up on the gambling table. He crossed his arms, a slow smirk forming across his lips.

Chiron had a smile of his own as he slid forward to take his card back into his hand. "Right on, my young demigod."

More in rage than in awe, Dionysus slammed down two cards of his own. "Two twos."

"BS," Virgil chuckled.

"But, but-" Mr. D stammered, flabbergasted more than ever. Robotically, he also withdrew his cards. When Virgil's turn came around and he played two threes, the Wine God was just as quick to call him out: "BS!"

Smirk growing wider, Virgil leaned in to flip the cards over. One was the three of diamonds, the other, three of spades. "Take 'em," he murmured.

"You little brat! You're cheating!" Mr. D roared.

Virgil shrugged. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm not cheating."

"Why you-"

Chuckling, Chiron called attention back to the game. "Dionysus, if the boy says he isn't cheating, he isn't. Let us continue." And he took his turn. Then, Dionysus tossed in a card of his own. This time, Virgil was silent.

"What, you're not going to call BS this time, you little brat?" Mr. D spat, a hardened expression of concentration crossing his face. He jabbed a finger at the face-down card he'd thrown into the middle. For the past three turns, Virgil had mercilessly called both camp directors out on their bluffs. This time, the son of Hermes strangely chose to keep quiet.

He shrugged, adjusting the dark sunglasses over his brown eyes. "Nope," he muttered slyly. Dionysus watched, dumbstruck, as Chiron's turn also went by in silence. A decent stack of cards was beginning to pile up now, waiting idly for someone to adopt them into their hand. A quick glance at the stack and Virgil's palms felt clammy. The time had come to play a card of his own. There were only three cards left in his hand. But neither one was a three. Should he try to bluff with a six? No, Mr. D had called BS on him every turn, and he surely wouldn't let up this time. He was most definitely not going to just sit there and accept a loss. Sons of Hermes didn't lose. Most importantly, Virgil Coogan didn't lose. It was in his blood to be a winner. He'd never lost in anything. Even if it meant cheating. He was prepared.

Discretely removing his legs from their most-definitely-comfortable position on the tabletop, he shoved his cards out of the line of sight and into his lap. Under the table, he slowly, yet efficiently, bent down to "tie his shoe"; but, instead of crossing the Nike's laces to make bunny ears, he plucked a red three of hearts out of his sock. At all times, Virgil kept a quarter deck on him, to be used in situations like these. The ace, two, three, four, and five were in his sock; and the rest were in the back pocket of his jeans. It was one of the many lessons he taught in the yearly Hermes cabin class, Cheating 101.

Naturally, Mr. D called BS. And, naturally, Mr. D got custody of the seven cards in the middle.

Mr. D was far from winning. So, when he plucked a few cards from the mountainous stack in his hand and claimed them as "four fours", Virgil didn't question him. For goodness' sake, Mr. D could have most of the deck by now! By now, however, the camp director had gotten used to the boy's sly, sheer unpredictability and only flashed Virgil a short sideways glare.

From his own stack, Chiron tossed in two fives. Virgil was silent. But this time, like a parent readying to come down hard on their child, Chiron shot the son of Hermes a knowing glance. A smile never left his mustached lips. It was the same look that his mother gave him after receiving a call from the principal (who was, by now, on speed dial at the Coogan household), her What-Did-You-Do-This-Time gaze. In more ways than one, Chiron was, to some effect, like a parent himself. He watched over Camp Half-Blood, reprimanded and praised campers accordingly, set rules. Chiron knew. Virgil looked down at his cards, somewhat embarrassed as he pretended to contemplate over which one to play. Had he overdone it this time? Maybe he should have erroneously called BS a couple times, so it hadn't been so obvious that he was cheating. Either way, Virgil convinced himself, Chiron wouldn't do anything. Chiron was the gentle one, the parent that let you get away with stuff.

Luckily, Virgil didn't have to ruminate too much, for he had a fair-and-square six of clubs left in his hand. He played the card, all the while, trying to avoid the heat of Chiron's red-hot gaze.

For the rest of the game, Virgil could've sworn that same gaze burned on him. Mr. D played two sevens. Chiron was watching him. Chiron played an eight- and, he was still watching. Then, Virgil's turn rolled around. He had one card left. But, it definitely wasn't the nine he needed. Chiron's stare was as heavy as ever. What, did he think that if he stared long enough, the camper wouldn't cheat? Heck, no one could stop him from cheating. That was his thing. So, using the hand his card was in, Virgil vaguely reached into his back pocket, pulled out a piece of gum (and, switching his ace out for a nine), and popped the mint-flavored stick into his mouth.

Then, he played the card. Mr. D called BS. And, Virgil had, naturally, won the game.

"I'll be taking those," Virgil said. He smiled his wide, toothy smile, reaching in corral the golden drachmas into his open arms across the table. Once there was a significant pile at the table's edge, he lifted his North Face backpack to nonchalantly shove the coins in with the side of his hand. It felt good to win.

What entertained Virgil more was the way an even-more-flabbergasted Mr. D jolted up from his seat with wide owl eyes. He looked about to explode, like a can of Sprite that had been shaken up. "Okay, what was it?" He thundered. "_How did you cheat this time? What did you use?" _

Virgil smirked, standing up from the table dismissively. Oh, how he loved peoples' reactions. That was the best part about stealing or cheating or playing "bad"- the part at the end where he got to see the victim's face. Their expressions were priceless; and, utterly unable to steal. Mr. D was always so surprised, even when he was expecting the end result. Even after Virgil had duped him countless times, his dumbfounded reaction was the same. Slowly pulling off his black sunglasses with a pair of fingers, he held them up like a prized trophy. "X-ray specs," he said with a shrug. "You know, that can see through cards? Stole 'em from one of NYC's top electronics stores. Honestly, Dionysus, I'm surprised you didn't see that one coming." What he neglected to mention was that he had narrowly escaped the store's paranoid security guards after he'd set off an alarm. With the help of a little charm he'd bought on the Daedalus' Labyrinth Black Market, he'd managed to rig the security cameras, but had forgotten to plan an exit and run into a guard.

Dionysus's brow furrowed, hands slamming down hard on the table, nearly knocking cards off of it. "That's Mr. D, to you, you little _brat_! Your father's going to hear about this!"

Virgil chuckled quietly, twirling the sunglasses from one of the arms. "You think Dad's gonna do anything about it? He's the God of theives, Dionysus, do you really think he's gonna get on my case for cheating? It's in my blood. Literally."

Mr. D muttered something under his breath about Hermes and his bratty children needing to learn some manners. The only words Virgil could make out were, "Well, I'll find some way..." to which, Virgil replied with a smug grin.

"Some way to, what?" he echoed, more of a challenge than a question.

"Punish you, darn it!" Mr. D roared. The Sprite can had just shot open, not caring who it drenched in lemon-lime soda. This was it. Mr. D had cracked. However, Virgil swore silently, this wouldn't be the last time. He was sure Mr. D would leave some soda for later this evening. For Zeus's sake, Dionysus had gone the whole school year without being messed with! This was Virgil's first prank of the summer. He hadn't even gotten to the fun prank yet. They hadn't gotten to capture-the-flag. They hadn't even gotten to orientation. These few summer months were going to be amazing.

"What, are you going to turn me into a bush? 'Cause, you know, I could still be pretty sly, even as a bush."

Somewhere behind Virgil, a little girl- a newbie-, probably no more than four feet tall with curly blond pigtails, gasped in bewilderment. "So it is true!" she said in a high-pitched voice. "He _will_ turn us into bushes if we ask too many questions!" Virgil recalled with a chuckle the day's earlier episode, where Mr. D had grown impatient with first-year half-bloods asking the location of the bathrooms and threatened them with transformation into leafy foliage.

Virgil winked back at the girl. "Told 'ya."

Dionysus gritted his teeth, leaning on his hands as he pressed them hard against the table. "Scram!" he bellowed, and the little girl ran off with a yelp. Just as quickly, Virgil, too, was gone.


End file.
